


Silver Fire and Blue

by Erimthar



Category: Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types, Forgotten Realms
Genre: Adventure, Gen, Myth Drannor, Silverymoon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-22
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-02-26 15:48:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2657654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erimthar/pseuds/Erimthar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alustriel of Silverymoon faces a friend from the past who may now be her greatest enemy. She and her new allies just might have found more trouble than they can handle amid the ruins of Myth Drannor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set in or about the Year of the Wave (1364 DR) in the "Classic" Forgotten Realms (1st - 3rd editions). The Company of the Catlash is from the Ruins of Myth Drannor boxed set, published in 1993. All major characters and locations in this story are the creation of Ed Greenwood. The Forgotten Realms are the property of Wizards of the Coast.

Alustriel floated, bodiless, in a world of patterns. All about her, bewildering currents and networks of force swirled, without color or solidity, making a sound that could be perceived but not heard. To the uninitiated, this grid of raw magical energy would seem, a terrifying abyss of silently howling terror, with no end in any direction. To Alustriel, it was home.

She hummed joyously to herself, in time to the silent thrumming. Already, as she looked about with her mind, the hopeless tangle began to resolve itself into recognizable patterns, like marked paths through an endless labyrinth. These were the magical spells that were given to her by the grace of Mystra, the goddess of magic, and they required no effort on Alustriel's part to discern. There was a spell to read minds, one to change one's shape, another to transport onesself to a distant location – all of these and more snapped into being in Alustriel's mind like something that has been momentarily forgotten, then remembered again after a moment's mind-searching.

The chaos now seemed to Alustriel more to resemble a road map, filled with clear paths that were impossible to miss or to forget. She mentally swept the scene once more to see that everything she wanted was there, and then she allowed herself to slip back into herself, with the regret of one who must leave a particularly beloved place to return to another day of drudgery.

She heard a strange music, and gradually realized that it was her own humming, combined with the deep, rhythmic ticking of the great Lantanna pendulum-clock that stood at the far corner of her bedchamber. She became aware of her own hands, long white fingers with short, red-painted fingernails, resting upon the open pages of her spellbook. Then she became aware of the stiffness in her back and stood up from the chair to stretch.

As if on cue, there came a knock at the chamber door: four high and one low. Alustriel recognized the signal of Taern "Thunderspell" Hornblade, chief of the palace Spellguard and her most trusted advisor. She whispered a word that dropped the magical defenses insulating the room.

"Enter, Greybeard," she called gaily.

The door opened and Taern came into the room, smiling at Alustriel's use of the nickname. His beard was indeed well on the far side of grey. His face bore a few more lines than it had the year before, and his hands were flecked with a few more of the dark spots of advancing age. He was a man who had seen well upwards of sixty years. Alustriel, by contrast, was a maiden in the most glorious bloom of youth. Her skin was fair and flawless, and her hair was a brilliant, lustrous silver that hung to her waist in a shimmering cascade or a long braid, depending on the occasion and her mood.

Taern always found it amusing to consider the fact that Alustriel had already been several centuries old when he was born.

"Ahem. The ambassadors request the honor of your presence for food, drink and pleasantries in the great hall, my Lady. You'd best hurry while there's still some food, drink and pleasantry left to be had. They're an enthusiastic bunch, I must say."

"Ah, yes," sighed Alustriel, brushing some stray locks of silver hair into place. "My potential recruits into the Lords' Alliance. An informative lot."

"But you've barely spoken to any of them yet."

"I haven't had to. The reception last night gave me a wealth of information. The dwarven emissary from Mithril Hall pretended to be drunk after only three tankards of beer. Every dwarf I've ever met could down four times that much without setting a hair of his beard askew. That clumsy attempt at deception means he doesn't trust us, and hopes that we’ll write him off as a lightweight fool and underestimate him."

Taern shook his head. "And that ambassador from Luskan – the one who can't sing on key..." (Alustriel stifled a giggle.) "Was he trying to divine your intentions as well?"

"No, he was really drunk." Now it was Alustriel's turn to shake her head. "He kept trying to look down my bodice all night."

"Truly?" Taern arched his eyebrows, counting on his beard to mask his grin. "That must be why Lady Mystra made you so tall. The Luskanite ambassador is certainly not a man of imposing stature."

"He stood on tip-toe. Subtlety is not a virtue in Luskan. How do I look?"

"Like an enchantress, as always," said Taern, almost with reverence.

"Then it's time to go and enchant my handsome princes. And princesses," said the High Lady of Silverymoon grandly. Taern followed her out of the chamber, as usual not quite sure whether his mistress was serious or not.

*  *  *  *  *

Alustriel knew something was wrong when she realized, an hour after her arrival at the ambassadors' reception, that she was not enjoying herself. As ruler of the City of Silverymoon, diplomacy was her foremost duty. Only through careful cooperation could the civilized communities of the North hope to hold off the hordes of enemies – orcs, trolls, and worse – that seemed to loom just beyond the torchlights of every city gate. Her city was a center of learning, a model of tolerance and diversity, a source of military and – far more importantly – magical might. Silverymoon was the linchpin that held civilization in the North together, and Alustriel _was_ Silverymoon. Her people called her Lady Hope, and loved her. Her enemies called her darker things, and respected her.

Almost every day of her life, Alustriel faced decisions that could mean life or death for many. Agonizing decisions and bewildering moral dilemmas were everyday occurrences to her, and her composure under such pressures was legendary. This diplomatic gathering, while important, held no particular risks, no danger of great failure. It was routine.

So why, then, did she have such a throbbing headache?

She was one of Mystra's Chosen, endowed with virtual immortality and immunity to all the diseases that afflicted other humans. On some occasions (and for Alustriel these occasions were _very_ rare) she might find herself in such mental distress that actual physical pain manifested itself, but this little reception was certainly no such occasion.

Only two or three times in her long, long life had Alustriel experienced such a sensation. On each occasion the cause had been magic – strong magic, and personally involving her.

She stayed long enough at the reception to satisfy the demands of duty, and then excused herself. In hopes that fresh air might make her feel better, she made for an open gallery high in her palace, which looked out westward over the city. A chilly breeze blew, and in the deep twilight she could just make out the treetops of the Silverglen, rising among the buildings in the distance.

Here in the quiet, Alustriel realized that the pain in her head was accompanied by an odd buzzing, just within the range of hearing. If she concentrated intently, the sound almost seemed to resolve into something meaningful, but just beyond her grasp.

She started toward her bedchamber, and as she neared it the buzzing in her head grew louder and more distinct – a voice, perhaps? Dry and husky, barely coherent, but most definitely a voice. The pain in her head grew along with the sound.

Something dawned on her then – something not entirely pleasant. She hurried to her chamber.

*  *  *  *  *

The box was still there, underneath her dresser. The trustworthy halfling chambermaid had never disturbed it. Now the sound came at her in deafening waves, from all directions. Alustriel resisted the urge to cover her ears – she knew it would do no good. The sound was in her head alone, and the pain that went with it now brought tears to her eyes. It was most certainly a voice now, a voice she recognized. Yet it seemed to be split into a thousand different parts, all saying the same thing at different speeds, in varying registers. She couldn’t make out what it said.

She fumbled at the box, the pain and confusion making her desperate. There was a little, ornate key, if only she could find it...

There it was! She turned it in the lock on the front of the box and opened the lid. Inside was a black opal, as big as a child's fist, worth a fortune. But its value didn’t matter. She reached out her hand and closed it around the jewel.

The thunderous noise and the pain shut off as if a faucet had been turned. A single voice spoke in her head, clearly. "Bright Eyes," it said, "Come to me. I fear my doom is upon me." Then all was silent.

Alustriel knelt there on the carpet of her bedchamber for just a moment. Taern would have been alarmed indeed, if he could have seen the troubled look in her eyes at that moment.

"I'm coming," she whispered. Then she wasted no more time.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

In the closet of the bedchamber was a trunk with the words "Travelling Clothes" written on its top with charcoal. Alustriel opened it and took out the items it contained. They looked common enough: a pair of skintight brown leather breeches, and a tunic made of what appeared to be three layers of netting: black netting on the inside, grey in the middle, and white outermost. Alustriel removed her gown and laid it out on her bed for the chambermaid to find and put away.

As she sat on the edge of the bed and struggled into the breeches, Alustriel thought briefly of the druid who had given them to her, many, many years ago. He had been a good friend (actually, far more than a friend), but like most of the High Lady's past companions, he was now long dead. The breeches, he had told her, would render her insubstantial to all unnatural creatures. Undead, magically created or bred mutants, magical monsters and constructs, all would find it impossible to touch the wearer save by use of weapons or spells. Even then, the attacker would find some of its unnatural life energies sapped by even indirect contact with the wearer.

The three-layered tunic was in reality a magical labyrinth, designed to capture and retard any magic cast at its wearer. Few spells could wend their way through all three layers fully intact: most would lose their way and remain there, dormant, until Alustriel chose to let them dissipate or pluck them out for her own use or study. The tunic was a gift from her sister Laeral, given to Alustriel as a coronation gift when she had become ruler of Silverymoon.

A pair of boots, durable but not magical, and Alustriel's ensemble was complete.

She took up her magical staff with the carved unicorn head, and glanced briefly at her reflection in the huge, gilded mirror that revealed magical auras. All of her enchanted garments and items shone with a pale blue glow.

_I look like I should be dancing on a table in some festhall,_ she thought to herself. _But hopefully fashion won't be a concern where I'm going._

She took just a moment to scribble a note to Taern on a piece of parchment. She set it down on a black marble table-top in a corner of the room, and watched as it sank into the reflective surface and vanished. In a few moments, it would appear in the wizard's hand. By that time, Alustriel would be safely away from his protective protests.

She spoke a single word, and found herself standing in a moonlit valley many miles from her home.

*  *  *  *  *

It was quite dark, but Alustriel knew precisely what she was looking for, and where to find it. Centuries ago a village had stood on this spot. It had been looted and burned by bandits, and now only the remains of the well could be found here: an overgrown, vertical shaft surrounded by the ruins of a shattered stone wall. Alustriel stood at its edge and gazed up at the sky. The near-full moon seemed to ride across the sky among the clouds at breakneck speed, but in reality it was the clouds that moved, blown before a high west wind which, on the ground, barely caused Alustriel's silver hair to rustle about her shoulders. She brushed a stray lock out of her eyes and looked down the shaft. The first few feet were dimly visible in the moonlight, before the pit vanished into darkness. Alustriel allowed herself to remember.

The bandit chieftain Arramore had been known far and wide as a brute who enjoyed nothing more than hearing the death-screams of his fellow men. But, it was said, this brutality was tempered by an odd idiosyncracy: he could not bear the sight of a woman or a child suffering. This didn’t mean that he would allow them to escape, that he would not sell them into slavery or allow his men to have their way with the women – he simply insisted that such things happened out of his own sight.

Alustriel remembered the look on his face as he sat on his horse and watched his brigands slay the last of the village's defenders. Shocked horror shone in his eyes as he watched the doomed hamlet's women and children cast themselves into the well. Alustriel herself had been the last to go.

Arramore must have been truly astonished when he looked down into the well and found it empty of anything save water: no gruesome corpses of dead innocents. He was even more astonished two days later, when a beautiful, teenaged girl with silver hair appeared floating in the air before him, and blew his head from his shoulders with a single spell.

Alustriel shuddered at the memory. It was an angry, reckless phase of her life that she preferred to forget.

The well had hidden a gate which led to the far-off city of Myth Drannor. By speaking a certain word, the young sorceress had activated it and allowed all of the village's women and children to escape to safety. She spoke the same word now, and nodded with satisfaction as she felt the sudden hum of magical power deep down in the darkness.

Normally, a simple _teleport_ spell would have been sufficient to carry the High Lady of Silverymoon to any destination she chose, but such magics were forbidden in the ruins of Myth Drannor. The mythal – the great, living field of magic that encased the ruined city – would not allow it. The city could, however, be accessed via many gates scattered across the Realms, if one knew where to find them. Actually, Alustriel loved the feeling of travelling through Myth Drannan gates. Most teleportive magic caused a slight feeling of nausea and dislocation, but the gates of Myth Drannor produced a pleasant, almost euphoric vertigo, like a tickle inside the brain.

She stepped up on the low wall, called a spell of flight into her mind just in case anything went amiss, and stepped off into the shaft.

She fell into the blackness. There was a sudden lurching sensation, and Alustriel shivered as she passed through the gate. Suddenly, the air became considerably warmer. The moonlight vanished, and the sorceress felt herself floating gently downward, upheld by the magic of the mythal, which would allow no one to fall to their deaths within the city.

She looked below her into the darkness and satisfied herself that no monster lurked below, waiting for her to drop into its open maw. As she recalled, this particular area of the ruins was under the protection of the priests of Lathander and was kept relatively free of danger, but nothing could be absolutely relied on during the hours of darkness in this perilous place. Alustriel also took advantage of her altitude to glance about into the surrounding ruins. She spotted a campfire a few hundred feet off to the north. Fiends and undead (the ruined city's two most notable dangers) seldom chose to light the darkness that they thrived on, so Alustriel resolved to make for the light and investigate.

She landed gracefully, trying to avoid as much as possible any noisy disturbances of the stony rubble that covered the ground here. She moved toward the campfire, grateful on behalf of her legs that she was wearing the tough leather trousers rather than her customary skirts, which would now no doubt have been snagging on every sharp obstacle and offering her no protection from the many shin-high protrusions of rock and crumbled masonry.

Alustriel was a bit disturbed not to hear any voices as she neared the light. She hugged the wall of a partially-collapsed building, and peered carefully around the corner into the clearing where the fire burned.

Six female adventurers stared back at her, weapons and spell components in hand. All were obviously prepared for this situation, and had certainly known of her approach.

_Well, so much for my career as a sneak thief._

Two of the women held spell components rather than weapons. Their ability to deal death at a distance made them Alustriel's first concern. A tall, slender half-elf with white hair held a small metal peg, and her hands were positioned in the opening gesture of a spell to hold monsters immobile. Across the fire from her, a pretty woman with chestnut-brown hair falling about her shoulders and a holy symbol of Tymora around her neck held a leaf and had begun to sketch a...what was it?...a _flame blade_ spell.

The four other women held weapons. A small and obviously graceful half-elf with long blonde hair held a nasty-looking dagger. Another woman with black hair flecked with grey wielded a morning star, and also wore a holy symbol of Tymora, the goddess of luck and patroness of adventurers. A bearded, scowling female dwarf stood atop a fallen slab of rock with throwing axe at the ready. In the center of the group, nearest the fire, stood a striking woman with long brown hair who held what appeared to be a whip.

"Your name and business here, if you please," said the woman with the whip. "If you mean us harm, you’d better know that you face the Company of the Catlash, and that we’re in no mood for mercy tonight."

 


	3. Chapter 3

"If I were an enemy," said Alustriel as she stepped out into the firelight, "then it would be a mistake for you to tell me so plainly that you have been having troubles. I might be able to use that knowledge against you."

The woman with the whip smiled in a none-too-friendly fashion. "We thank you for the advice," she said evenly. "Now, if you have a name, we’re still waiting to hear it."

"I am Alustriel of Silverymoon... and I mean no harm to those who mean no harm."

The whip-wielder's smile became an uneasy frown. "Alustriel, eh?" she growled. "If you're a liar, you are a damned bold one, that much is certain."

"I have no more reason to lie," replied Alustriel with perfect composure, "than you do."

The mage with blonde hair laughed shortly. "A lone woman walking at night and alone in the ruins of Myth Drannor, claiming to be the High Lady of Silverymoon, is not something I'd care to take at face value, if you don't mind my saying so."

"Hold yer disrespect, all of you. It's her, all right," said a voice.

They all turned to look at the dwarf, who had placed her throwing axe back into her belt.

"Years ago," she said, "I went to Citadel Adbar, in the far north, to abide for a time with King Harbromm's people. I heard a deal of talk in those old halls, about the silvery-haired lady who kept the howling hordes at bay and made it possible for the dwarves to keep what little hold they had left in those parts. If it weren't for her, so said the long-beards, the orcs and goblins and trolls would have filled every cavern and dwarf-delving from Waterdeep to the Great Glacier.

"Then came the day this Lady Alustriel came to the Citadel on a visit to see the King. Believe me when I tell you I never seen dwarves so glad to see any woman without a beard on her chin or an axe in her hand."

The dwarf-woman looked evenly at Alustriel. "Well met, Lady," she said. "You look much the same as you did that day long ago when you came riding up to the Adbar Gate on that white charger."

"I remember the day," replied Alustriel. "Only I had no idea the dwarves felt so warmly toward me."

The dwarf shrugged. "It's not our way to let on to such things," she said simply.

The woman with the whip, who was quite obviously the Company's leader, looked back at Alustriel and laughed nervously. "Well, you seem to have allayed Kaldura's suspicions, and that is a feat not many have accomplished. Still, the nature of our present quest makes it likely that certain...shape-shifters might try to do us some harm. So, Lady, if you really are Alustriel, tell us what you make of this gem." Without warning, she drew a large, smooth stone from the folds of her tunic and tossed it to Alustriel, who caught it reflexively.

She examined it. "I'm no jeweller," she said, "and I can't say what sort of stone this is, save that it has a certain feel of magic to it."

"That it does," said the woman, nodding. "It's a Gem of Truth, fallen from the pommel of a Blade of Truth, which is the treasure we’re seeking in these ruins. The stone's virtue is that falsehood and deception can’t endure its presence. If you were indeed a shape-shifter, you would be a dead one at this moment."

Alustriel laughed and tossed the gem back. "An interesting test, though perhaps a bit hard on the shape-shifter!"

The woman caught the stone and replaced it in her garments. " _I_ am a bit hard on shape-shifters. I hold only death in my heart for their kind," she said grimly. Then, her anger seemed to pass as quickly as it had come.

"You’re welcome to share our fire, Alustriel of Silverymoon," she said. "I am Catlindra Serpentar, and these fine ladies follow me, for better or worse. The dwarf who had such fond recollections of you is Kaldura Othmeir. Our two half-elven mages are Taruele Elfrost, with the white hair, and Shaliira Duon, the blonde, and the only woman in the Realms who makes up her face to go adventuring." (Shaliira blushed as the rest of the group laughed with good nature). "Our priests and healers are Chaldara Immerstar and Jandeth Ilmura, both of Tymora." (The woman with salt-and-pepper hair and the one with long brown hair nodded in acknowledgment).

"I’m well pleased to meet all of you," said Alustriel, "but I fear I can’t stay long. I’ve come here in some haste, in response to an urgent summons from an old friend. I must seek him out as soon as I can."

"It may be that our paths run in the same direction," said Catlindra. "The Blade of Truth we seek lies in these ruins. We have only the Gem at the moment, but when whole, the Blade has the power to expose any shape-shifter for what it is by touch alone, and to slay such creatures with ease. Also, any creature whose blood is on the blade cannot speak a lie to the person who holds the sword. We hope to put this sword to good use against the many doppelgangers and other false creatures who plague the Realms."

Alustriel looked troubled. "There is no such thing as an evil race, only evil hearts," she said. "But it sounds like a mighty blade. When you find it, you must seek out my sister Dove and show it to her. She’s a great hand at blades and may be able to tell you some lore of it."

"I hope so," replied Catlindra. "We were led here on this quest by a certain bard who called herself Lady Nightbird. She was the one with the lore, and the directions. She saw fit to leave us today, with not much explanation and only a scribbled note to guide us... What’s that noise?"

A hush fell over the group, and they could all hear an odd sound coming from out in the ruins, nearby. A sort of gasping, wheezing sound that seemed to rise and fall and come from several directions at once.

"The priests of Lathander keep this area more or less free of monsters," said Alustriel, "but nevertheless, it’s foolish to let one's guard down anywhere around these parts. I suggest we have weapons out and spells at the ready."

Catlindra nodded. "Battle readiness, all of you," she said. All the Companions of the Catlash drew out weapons and spell components as appropriate, and warily watched the darkness beyond the firelight.

Catlindra produced a crumpled piece of parchment and handed it over to Alustriel. "This is the paper Lady Nightbird left us," she said.

The High Lady read it aloud. "Seek the Blade of Truth in the abode of ... Lord Marogance, the lich."

Catlindra looked at her curiously. "Is something wrong? You've turned as white as your hair. Do you know where this undead lord can be found?"

Alustriel licked her dry lips and swallowed hard. "I should," she said. "He's the old friend that summoned me here."

 


	4. Chapter 4

Catlindra had time only for a momentary look of astonishment before Chaldara's calm voice called out. "Ghouls to the northeast, and whatever's making that sound is approaching fast."

The companions had time to see only a blur of red eyes and yellow fangs in the firelight, and then the beasts were upon them.

Two ghouls made directly for Alustriel, and quickly regretted it. As they moved in to lay her open with their filthy claws, the power of her magical garments flared to life, and both monsters fled howling back into the night as magic burned at their unlife.

Alustriel now had a moment to take stock of the situation. A few feet away, Catlindra had dropped into a defensive crouch, holding her whip-like weapon ready in her hand. Seven leather strands dangled from the handle, each no more than two feet long. A ghoul approached, grinning at the rather ineffectual-looking weapon. Then, with a suddenness that made even Alustriel go momentarily wide-eyed with surprise, the whip struck out at the undead beast.

The sheer speed of the strike was astonishing, but the blow seemed premature: the ghoul was still a good ten feet away from Catlindra, well out of the range of the short strands. And so, Alustriel was more than a little surprised when the resounding crack of the whip was accompanied by an explosion of black blood as a large portion of the ghoul's face parted company with its skull. The monster spun around three times, so stunned that it didn't even think to clutch at its ruined head, and then pitched over, quite dead. Faster than Alustriel could see, the strands of the whip retracted to their previous length.

"Interesting weapon, that," Alustriel called to Catlindra.

"It serves," replied the warrior woman as she calmly readied herself for the next attack. "But keep well away from me, Lady, for within a dozen paces of the catlash your magic may go wrong."

Alustriel nodded and hurried to the other side of the campfire, where half a dozen more ghouls had moved into the circle of firelight to do battle with the Company of the Catlash. She could immediately see, just by the calm and methodical way these women went about readying themselves for combat, that they were seasoned adventurers, and not green newcomers. Kaldura the dwarf had already crushed the head of one ghoul with her morning star, and prepared to send another to the same fate. Chaldara had conjured a _flame blade_ and was actually in pursuit of one of the ghouls, who was (quite rightly) terrified of the magical fire. Shaliira held her blue-glowing magical dagger between her knees as she dug into her pocket for spell components.

Out of the corner of her eye, Alustriel saw Kaldura stumble over a bit of debris, and let her guard down momentarily. Alustriel called upon the power of her unicorn-headed staff, and as the ghoul lunged forward to rend the vulnerable dwarf warrior, it suddenly found itself unable to move. Its mouth gaped with horrified surprise as Kaldura quickly righted herself and ended its existence.

"Much obliged, I'm sure," called Kaldura, smiling and touching her forehead. Without looking, she aimed a backhanded blow at another onrushing ghoul that shattered its ribcage.

But it was the scene in the shadows beyond Kaldura that now riveted Alustriel's attention. Stumbling out from between two ruined buildings came three human figures: two men and a woman. They were clothed as adventurers. The three were surrounded by a nimbus of bluish light, which Alustriel recognized as raw magical energy. The light was escaping from their mouths, ears, nostrils, and smoldering out of their clothing. By the pale illumination thus provided, Alustriel could see the expressions of agony and horror on the faces of the three mysterious people.

The members of the Company of the Catlash who were not immediately engaged in fighting ghouls also caught sight of the three humans. It was obvious that they were the source of the odd gasping sounds they had heard a few moments before: all three struggled desperately for breath. They seemed to be choking, stifling on the burning energy that filled them. Alustriel knew that normal mortals could not hold such power for long without being destroyed. The presence of so much uncontrolled magic was a grave danger to everyone in the vicinity. She knew what she would have to do.

The three suffering individuals caught sight of the campfire and made for it desperately, pleading expressions on their faces. Someone called out, "don't let them get near," and Alustriel could see tall, white-haired Taruele silhouetted against the firelight, preparing a spell.

"No, don’t cast magic at them!" Alustriel cried, but it was too late. Taruele's _hold monster_ spell struck one of the men. Suddenly, the world was illuminated by a blinding blue flash. The unfortunate man was vaporized in an explosion of magical energy that sent them all, adventurers and ghouls alike, sprawling to the ground. Only Alustriel noticed that the night sky above them had flashed like lightning at the precise moment the man had exploded. _By all the gods_ , she thought. _It's the mythal. Someone has stolen magical energy from the mythal itself._ She shuddered at the implications of that.

They all picked themselves up, except for Taruele, who remained on her knees, holding her head, rocking back and forth, and weeping. "All my magic," she sobbed. "It took all my magic. I can't think...my head...oh, gods..."

Alustriel hurried over to the helpless half-elf and quickly cast a spell upon her: one of her own devising, that would protect Taruele against all but the most powerful magical weapons and against all low-level magical spells.

The other man and the woman had collapsed to the ground and remained there, writhing in pain and terror, fully expecting to meet the same fate as their former companion. At the same time, Shaliira gave a choking cry. A ghoul had surprised her in the confusion; she had managed to take it in the throat with her magical dagger, but another came up behind her and raked her unprotected back. She barely had time to turn around before the effects of the ghoul's touch struck her: she fell to the ground as all the muscles in her body seized up, paralyzing her. Shaliira shuddered violently and continuously as saliva flooded from her mouth, her ability to swallow or even blink her eyes suddenly gone.

But Alustriel had to trust the others to look after the little blonde-haired mage. She had to act now, before it was too late. She hurried forward to the side of the woman, who was now clawing at the ground in a frenzy. Taking the woman in her arms, she ignored the strong tingle of magical power that exuded from her every pore. Alustriel herself carried such power within her, placed there by Mystra, the goddess of magic. She hoped that she could hold just a bit more.

The woman looked frantically up at her, choking and gagging. Her eyes had turned entirely blue, and Alustriel knew that she was on the verge of bursting with power. She took a deep breath and clamped her mouth down hard upon that of the woman. The woman whimpered once, then went rigid as a titanic flood of magical energy flowed out of her and into Alustriel. It took only a few seconds, but it seemed an eternity to the sorceress as her body accepted far more energy than it was ever meant to hold. As soon as the task was finished, she staggered over to the man, who fortunately had managed to hold out those few extra seconds. She repeated the procedure with him.

The deed done, Alustriel stood up, swaying. Her head hurt beyond endurance and a terrible roaring filled her ears. Stars swam across her vision. She looked once back toward the campfire. The Company of the Catlash had finished off the last of the ghouls and now stood gaping at Alustriel in astonishment, except for Chaldara, who was tending to the still-paralyzed Shaliira.

From some reserve deep within her soul, Alustriel mustered the strength and clarity of mind to seize hold of that aspect of the mythal's magic which allowed one to teleport safely within its bounds. The magic carried her to an open area she knew of, several hundred yards away. Then she let herself go.

Raw magic roared from every orifice in her body, and Alustriel screamed in mixed agony and relief as the unbearable feeling of fullness flowed out of her. In a few seconds it was over, and Alustriel found herself on her hands and knees, trembling violently. She emptied the contents of her stomach onto the broken paving stones, and then rolled over onto her back and allowed the cool night breeze to wash over her sweat-soaked body.

In a few moments she arose and made her way, still somewhat dizzy, back to her new companions.

 


	5. Chapter 5

The light of a nearly-full moon guided Alustriel safely past the ruined street's many obstacles as she made her way back toward the camp. A cool spring breeze blew among the shattered buildings. The night air of this latitude was much warmer than she was used to at this time of year.

She looked back over her shoulder. At the far end of the wide avenue she could see the distant, looming silhouette of the Dome of Birds, which in the days of Myth Drannor's glory had been the greatest theater in the Realms. In the opposite direction, no more than a quarter of a mile beyond the campfire, stood the Dawnspire, the temple to the dawn-god Lathander, which had been established here with the purpose of bringing about the rebirth of the ancient city. Many centuries ago, even before Alustriel and her sisters had been born, Myth Drannor had been the greatest center of culture the world of Toril had ever known. All of the good races had lived here together in harmony, producing magnificent works of art, literature, music, architecture, and magic. Then came the day when hordes of summoned devils swarmed through the streets and squares, destroying all that could not escape, and laying low in a few hours what had taken centuries to build. Now, nothing remained but these monster-haunted ruins, and the great mythal, the mighty magical creation that still encompassed the whole of the ruined city.

Alustriel shook her head as she recalled what had happened when she had taken the suffering woman's magic into herself. She had braced herself for a sudden inrush of power – nothing beyond her ability to handle; after all, she bore the silver fire of Mystra within her at all times. When she had begun to draw the magic into her, however, she had momentarily sensed a vast ocean of power bearing down upon her. It was rather like upending a tankard of water to drain it off at a single draught, and discovering that the tankard had no bottom and was connected to the sea itself. A moment later, as if someone had thrown a switch, the reservoir of power was cut off and Alustriel had sensed a fluctuation throughout the entire mythal, from one horizon to the other. Her peculiar sensibilities as one of the Chosen of Mystra enabled her to sense this aberration of magic. She suspected that her status as one of the goddess of magic's living repositories of power had also saved her from a destroying blast.

The three adventurers who had come stumbling into their camp had been filled with the blue fire of raw magical energy – far more of such energy than common mortal bodies were able to contain. As Taruele had discovered, to her cost, the addition of even a single spell's energy would cause the blue fire to explode out of its fragile container, vaporizing it, and consuming anyone in the near vicinity. Had the man been just a few yards closer when Taruele had cast her spell, it was certain that some of the Company of the Catlash would be charred corpses at this moment. As it was, the sudden consumption of so much magic had literally sucked all the spells out of Taruele's mind to help fuel the spectacular blast. Such a thing was a terrifying, possibly even mind-harming experience, and Alustriel hoped the slender white-haired mage would recover. Being half-elven, her mind would be better equipped to deal with such trauma, but it would be many days before she could study magic again.

Alustriel's anger grew as she continued to piece the situation together in her mind. Those three unlucky adventurers had been perfect death-traps. Their alarming apparance would naturally draw a magical response from the group's spellcasters – spells of divination, at least, if not holding or attack spells. If the resulting explosion did not kill the mage and those near her, it would at least rob her mind of spells and render her helpless. Meanwhile, the ghouls could keep the fighters busy long enough for this to occur. They had been no match for the Company. Most of them had fallen or been driven off within minutes, and Chaldara and Jandeth would have their holy symbols ready to drive off any who tried to return. Except for poor Shaliira's being paralyzed by one lucky claw-strike, none of the Company had even been injured. But, ghouls so close to the Dawnspire and its priests? By rights, this area should be entirely free of undead.

They had been sent. There was no question about it. Sent by someone who had the ability to funnel the power of the mythal itself to his own uses – evil uses. The power that could be commanded by one with such ability would be truly staggering.

This person had to be sought out, and stopped.

 


	6. Chapter 6

It was a disconsolate party that Alustriel found upon her return to the camp. The two adventurers who had been nearly consumed by magic seemed to have recovered themselves somewhat under the care of the two priestesses, but were still obviously weak and quite ill from the experience. Shaliira had recovered a bit of motion as the paralytic effects of the ghoul's touch began to wear off. She would be in considerable pain for a while as her muscles and tendons recovered from the terrible cramping. The now spell-less Taruele just sat and stared vacantly into the fire.

The others reacted to Alustriel's reappearance with obvious relief. "Are we glad to see you," said Catlindra. "We thought maybe that blue fire had destroyed you."

"No," smiled Alustriel. "You might say the blue fire and I have something of an understanding. And speaking of it, how are our two new guests?"

"Capable of answering questions," replied Jandeth, "but I'm afraid heavy exercise will be out of the question for some time."

Alustriel knelt next to the man, who seemed the more alert of the two. She heartily dreaded the answers she would receive to the questions she had to ask. She drew a deep breath and rubbed her hands up and down her thighs, taking comfort in the feel of the soft doeskin stretched tight against her legs, and the faint tingle of power that emanated from the enchanted garment.

"Now, sir," she began gently. "Perhaps you could tell me how you and your companions happened into such a predicament?"

The man began to speak but fell immediately into a fit of coughing. Alustriel waited silently as he cleared his throat, and finally found his weak voice.

"We came here...to seek a fortune among the ruins," he said haltingly. "My brother Haran, my wife Amara, and myself...I'm Turimin Santher, of Deepingdale."

"I’m sorry for what happened to your brother," said Alustriel. This brought on a fresh wave of coughing from Turimin. When he recovered, there was a light of anger in his eyes.

"Yes...my brother. That is a score I shall live to see settled, lady, though I never see the sun rise again after that."

"And who is to be the recipient of your vengeance?"

Turimin made an effort to sit up, but Jandeth laid a warning hand on him and he settled for rolling over onto his side. He pointed out into the night and said, in a clear voice dripping venom, "That lich-lord. Marogance Black-beard."

Alustriel closed her eyes at the painful words. Her old tutor, Master Marogance. She heard Catlindra ask Turimin where this lich could be found.

"In the domed building at the end of the long concourse," replied the fallen adventurer. Alustriel's eyes flew open in surprise. The Dome of Birds? An undead lord making his lair so boldly near the Dawnspire? She had been within sight of that building just fifteen minutes earlier.

"He has demons at his command," came a new, feminine voice; it was Amara. She tried to sit up but fell back as waves of dizziness overwhelmed her. "Demons," she repeated, "and many more ghouls. He caught us in his lair...there was a chest of treasure, just sitting in the middle of the great hall. Haran suspected a trap, but we were so desperate for coin...we lost our farm..." Chaldara took the woman's hand comfortingly, and brushed the long tangle of brown hair out of Amara's pretty face. "Then, he was there. We were surrounded by six-armed demons of darkness, and Marogance stood before us, with those ghouls behind him. We'd heard stories about him, of course, but we didn't look to find him in this part of the city, so near the temple. He held a strange-looking golden stone in his hand."

" 'Thank you for being so stupid', he said. 'Now I have a bit of a job for you.' Then he did something with the stone, and power started pouring into us...it seemed to come from the sky, and from all around us."

"At first it felt so good...but it didn't stop. Lady, imagine someone pouring wine into your mouth. The first few swallows are wonderful, but then your belly is full, and still it flows into you. You choke, you strangle on it, but still it won't stop...he just wouldn't stop..." She subsided into uncontrollable sobs.

Turimin's sullen voice continued the tale. "He filled us until we could hold no more. Then a wave of his hand, and we found ourselves out in these streets, with your campfire visible between the buildings. The ghouls were there with us. We could think of nothing but getting help. We couldn't breathe, we knew we would die if someone couldn't help. We couldn't even think what it would look like to you, three blue-glowing phantoms stumbling out of the night breathing fire, and accompanied by ghouls. Then the lady cast her spell at Haran...that extra bit of magic just was too much. He could hold it no longer." Turimin shook his head ruefully. "Not her fault."

Catlindra touched Alustriel's arm, and led her off out of the earshot of the two adventurers. "Lady...you said this Lord Marogance was a friend of yours?"

Alustriel sighed. "When I was young, hundreds of years ago, the Lady Mystra decided that I should be raised in the house of a great Harper, Thamator the Old. After a somewhat...well, unpleasant time, it was decided that I should study magic. My first tutor was the wizard Marogance.

"Marogance was a direct descendant of one of the great mage families of Netheril. He claimed kinship to the archmages Raumark and Hilather, one of whom founded the wizard-kingdom of Halruaa, and the other of whom became the Master of Undermountain. Impressive credentials, to be sure, if not entirely reassuring ones.

"He wasn’t an evil man. A bit arrogant, a bit self-absorbed, but not evil. He took a great liking to me. _Bright-Eyes_ , he named me. And I liked him as well. If it weren’t for him, I might never have continued in the study of the Art." Alustriel sighed and gazed wistfully off into the night.

"After his time with me was finished, he went off in search of lost lore and magical discoveries. Every few years I would visit him, or he me. He gave me a token-stone. If he ever needed to meet with me, the stone would call to me, and when I took it in my hand it would relay his message."

"I hardly noticed the change in him, since I saw him so seldom. The evil that grew within him was one of self-interest only, not destructive toward others. He grew old. The greatest price we Chosen of Mystra pay for our immortality, aside from the responsibility, is having to watch our friends grow old and die around us. But though Marogance grew old, he never died. I suspected he used magic to prolong his life, but then on one of my rare visits, I detected an odd smell. He had dressed in a cowled cloak, even though it was the depth of summer. When at last I could look at his face, I saw that he had become a walking corpse...a lich. It was the last time I ever saw him. That was two hundred years ago."

"Then, earlier this evening, I heard the call of his token-stone. I took it in my hand, and heard him say that he feared his doom was upon him. He called me to come to him. And so I did."

Catlindra shook her head sadly. "From what we've seen here tonight," she said, "it looks as if he’s the bringer of doom rather than its victim. Maybe his message to you was a trap...you never know how centuries of undeath might warp the mind, turning old loves into festering obsessions."

Alustriel paused a long time before responding. "Even if that’s so," she said, "I have to go and find him...to find out what he’s become, and to...destroy him, if necessary."

Catlindra gave a low whistle. "Destroy a lich-lord," she said with a short laugh. "Not a challenge for one such as you, perhaps."

"I wouldn’t be so sure," replied Alustriel, gravely. "That golden stone our guests mentioned: it sounds like a Great Keystone."

Catlindra shook her head. "I’ve never heard of that. What’s a Great Keystone?"

"When a mythal is created...an art that was lost to mortals long ago...the matrix to control it must be placed into a gem known as a Great Keystone. The Stone is buried deep in some secret location, and as long as it endures, the mythal can’t be undone. But if anyone should find the Stone and bend it to his will, he can control its powers to a great extent...and even bring it down entirely. The power that Marogance poured into Turimin and Amara and Haran was, I think, the power of the mythal itself. I could feel it when it was inside me. I’m sensitive to such things."

"Then we must get the stone away from him."

"Yes, we must."

Just then a blazing light erupted from between two ruined buildings on the outskirts of the camp. From beyond the blinding glare came an authoritative voice. "What befalls here?" it said.

Alustriel looked about her. All of her companions were outlined in auras of light pink. She smiled as she recognized the effects of a priestly _watchlight_ spell – recognized it, because her little sister Qilue had invented it for use in her subterranean temple to Eilistraee, the goddess of those drow who rejected the evil teachings of their dark gods. Qilue had taught the spell to the priests of Lathander in gratitude for some great favor. The spell could tell good from evil by illuminating the good with a pink aura, and the evil with an angry red one. Anyone bathed in its light could not lie about his or her true identity, and undead were greatly harmed by it. Even the corpses of the destroyed ghouls were hissing and melting away like ice on a hot pavement.

"Greetings, Morninglords," she called. "I am Alustriel, the High Lady of Silverymoon, and these are my friends."

"Alustriel of Silverymoon? Ah, great blazing heavens above!"

A short paunchy man hurried forward from behind the blazing light and went to Alustriel, fussing all the way. He wore white priestly robes, and the pink disc of Lathander dangled from a chain around his neck. His hair was cropped into a tonsure, and a pair of poorly-fitted spectacles perched on his nose. They slipped off as he bent to kiss Alustriel's hand, but he caught them with a well-practiced hand before they could drop to the pavement.

"Indeed it is an honor. But why camp out here when you are so close to the temple? It is an honor indeed. Ghouls! And so close to the temple! Truly all is not right, truly. I am Morninglord Sephin, and I welcome you to the precincts of the Dawnspire....violated! By these blasted ghouls. This just won't do."

Three other priests stepped out into the light and restrained the babbling Sephin. "Lady Alustriel, you have wounded?" one of them asked.

"Yes. Two victims of magical overload, one recovering from a ghoul's touch, and one mage deprived of her magic."

"Perhaps we should take them back to the temple, where they can receive attention."

"I thank you for that offer, but Catlindra is the leader of this party."

"I thank you as well," said Catlindra, "and we will accept your offer."

And so they were led off, Turimin and Amara carried by strong young novices who waited in the shadows to assist their elders, Shaliira protesting that she had had far worse and that this wasn't the first case of ghoul paralysis she had had (but wincing in pain with every movement), and Taruele giving Alustriel a small and somewhat embarrassed smile as she went off with the priests. Alustriel smiled back at her, knowing that the young mage would be all right eventually. The procession started into the shadows in the direction of the Dawnspire, and the sounds of Sephin's fussing voice faded into the distance.

"Will you come and stay the night under our roof?" offered the last of the priests.

"No," replied Alustriel, "although it’s a gracious offer. I’m afraid that I have pressing affairs to attend to that can’t wait until tomorrow. But my companions may wish to take up your offer."

Catlindra grinned at her. "But there are no liches to be fought beneath the sheets of a stuffed bed, my lady," she said. "Lead on."

"I’d hoped to hear you say that," said Alustriel, smiling back at her.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

The night seemed to grow darker as Alustriel and the remaining Companions of the Catlash moved warily up the wide concourse toward the Dome of Birds. The moon had set directly behind the huge building, and the dome was silhouetted eerily against a glowing backdrop of wild, tattered clouds, scudding crazily across the sky as if blown by a gale wind, though hardly a breeze stirred on the surface. Except for that distant tableau, everything was in inky darkness, and they dared not carry a light for fear of alerting the inhabitants of the Dome. The companions could take hardly half a dozen steps without someone stumbling over an ancient, buckled piece of pavement. Only Kaldura, with her dwarven night-vision, could proceed at a steady pace. She went ahead in the lead and warned the others of the more treacherous spots.

It was more than simply darkness that troubled them. Every step closer to the sinister Dome of Birds brought with it an increased sense of unease among each member of the group, though only Alustriel could sense the deep, terrifying _wrongness_ that surrounded them. Something was wrong with the mythal. The great field of magic that encased the ancient city was in many respects a living being, and one which Alustriel had come to know quite well over the many centuries. They were kindred spirits in a sense: both serving as repositories of titanic magical forces, both faced with tremendous responsibility in the use of those forces.

But the more Alustriel reached out with her mind and senses to touch that kindred spirit, the more she was confronted with a growing, fearsome truth. The friend had become a stranger, and the stranger was not a friendly one.

The Companions of the Catlash saw huge, looming things out of the corners of their eyes. They felt things glaring at them from the very pavement they had just walked over. They heard what should not have been voices but that may have been nevertheless, whispering things in the darkness that would drive the listener mad if only they could be heard a bit more clearly. This was how mortal minds perceived the wrongness; Alustriel needed no such theatrics in order to feel fear.

Their legs all seemed to turn to lead as they covered the last hundred feet or so to the wide staircase leading up to the huge, covered portico of the Dome of Birds. They felt as if they walked through deep water, and each of them recalled dreams of being pursued by some horrible, nameless thing, and of being unable to force their legs to run.

The climb up the dozen steps to the porch took forever. They each seemed to hear thousands of voices clamoring all around them, though the only true sounds that could be heard were those of Chaldara and Jandeth muttering fearful prayers to Tymora. That sound came to the others as if through a tunnel, from a great distance.

A dreamlike last few steps across the porch and through the gaping hole where massive oaken doors used to stand, and they were within the Dome.

The sense of oppression disappeared so quickly that the Companions wondered if they’d been sleepwalking. They shook their heads and looked around them.

They stood in a huge room, tiled with what had once been expensive, polished stone and roofed with a massive, broken dome. The room seemed to be the center of a nexus, as arched doorways opened into darkness all around them.

"A bit mundane for the lair of a lich, I’d say," observed Catlindra.

As if on cue, a tremendous noise of rushing wind roared from all the dark portals, though no wind could be felt. Alustriel muttered a frantic prayer to Mystra and hurried through the words and gestures of a spell, hoping that the mythal wouldn’t warp her magic.

As they stood frozen with confusion, a hundred blades flew like bolts of lightning from each doorway, making for the companions as surely as if they were fired from archers’ bows. Alustriel gritted her teeth, half expecting to hear the sounds of screams and tearing flesh as her friends were butchered.

But her spell held. All the blades rebounded off the invisible magical barrier and fell to the floor with a deafening clatter. The four mortal adventurers gasped in unison, taken utterly by surprise, and drew their weapons simultaneously.

They all looked to Alustriel with fear in their eyes. "We owe you our lives, Lady," said Jandeth, "but I pray to all the gods of goodness that we live to repay the debt."

"Master Marogance...where are you?" cried Alustriel, her voice trembling, more with anger than with fear.

Something stirred in the darkness beyond each of the portals. Points of yellow light seemed to hang in the inky darkness beneath the carved lintels. Then demons stepped out from each of the doors, bowing their heads to clear the archways.

They seemed to be made of pure darkness: no features could be seen except for the horribly glowing eyes. They seemed to walk on two legs, but their bodies were unnaturally long and thin and segmented like some kind of insect. Each was more than ten feet tall, and each had six arms, and each hand held a sword.

The demons rushed forward with appalling speed, breaking through Alustriel's barrier spell as if it wasn’t there. Chaldara and Jandeth each spoke a word, and swords of fire leaped to life in their hands. Catlindra drew her longsword and Kaldura her mace, and the battle was joined. Alustriel stood and watched in mute horror: the demons seemed to be ignoring her. She knew that she was a powerful mage, and that she should be casting some mighty spell now to rescue her friends and drive these monsters off, but every attempt to focus her mind resulted only in paralysis. She’d never experienced such gross indecision and inaction before. Dimly, she was aware that there was something amiss with her, too; perhaps the same thing that was wrong with the mythal.

The battle was no contest. Catlindra and Kaldura managed to ward off the first series of blows, but they were driven to the ground and could do nothing but hold their weapons up before them. Jandeth's _flame blade_ seemed to slice right through the body of her fiend, but with no discernible effect. She ducked low just as the monster's blade whistled inches over her head.

Chaldara had no better luck with her own _flame blade_ spell, but she couldn’t avoid the thing's sword. It swung at her in a deadly arc...and passed through her, as if through thin air! Alustriel watched in confusion as the apparently unharmed priestess fell to the stone floor, unmoving. But Jandeth saw this and screamed in dismay. She turned wild, tearful eyes toward Alustriel. “Oh, gods have mercy,” she wailed. “She's cut in two...cut in two! Help us, Lady!”

“But...she's not...” stammered Alustriel, trying with all her strength to stave off the terrible mental paralysis that gripped her.

“Hold,” said a cold voice behind her...a voice that Alustriel recognized. The demons broke off their attack immediately and stood as if at attention.

Alustriel turned slowly. The room had gone deadly silent except for the muffled sound of Jandeth's sobs.

Lord Marogance stood there, looking as he had looked when Alustriel was only a young girl, coming to study under him for the first time. There was no sign of the ancient, withered husk of a man she remembered from the last time she had seen him. He had wild, black hair and a beard, and his clothes were black also: black breeches and jerkin, black cloak, black boots. In his hand he held a glowing golden stone. At his back was an army of ghouls, identical to those who had attacked their encampment earlier in the night.

“Well, Bright-Eyes,” he said. “I thank you for your prompt response to my summons. Your sense of responsibility is still as acute as ever. It will make my task much easier.”

“What...why...” was all Alustriel could manage.

Marogance shook his head in disapproval. “Come now, my dear. This dithering is hardly like you. I have brought you here to destroy you, of course.”


	8. Chapter 8

Alustriel hung her head. She could think of no spells to cast, could not even remember what the staff in her hand or the rings on her fingers were supposed to do. She felt only a deep, languid sadness, that her old beloved teacher could do such things.

“You no doubt recognize this stone in my hand,” he continued. “It is the Keystone to control this most impressive mythal. Its guardian was reluctant to give it up, but he shall no longer miss it, I can assure you.” Marogance chuckled without humor. “The stone permits me absolute control over the power of the mythal, of course. It is a very great power, Alustriel. Do you know, I live again! Such is the power I have been able to draw from it. It seems almost a shame to destroy it now.”

Catlindra’s mind raced. She looked at Kaldura, who had the look in her eyes of someone who has accepted death. She looked at Chaldara, lying in two bloody, gory pieces on the floor, an ocean of blood surrounding her. She looked at Jandeth, sobbing and struck numb with grief and terror. Alustriel, paralyzed and defeated. Marogance, coldly triumphant. Catlindra’s eyes scanned the room for anything that could be of use to her; she tried not to look directly at the demons who stood impassively about, and so her eyes were drawn to the floor.

The floor was still littered with the blades that had come flying out to murder them all just a few moments before. There were all sorts of blades, from daggers to greatswords, and everything in between. They varied in age from the obviously antique to the relatively new, and in quality from solid and bright to the final stages of decay. Her eyes were drawn to one ornate longsword that had the look of true quality to it. Its blade was carved with runes, and its pommel had an empty socket where a great gem had obviously once sat. She moved over to pick it up, fully expecting her skull to be split by some demon’s blade at any second. But none of the demons moved, and she hefted the sword in her hand.

“Have you found a toy to play with, child?” Catlindra knew Marogance's mocking words were directed at her, but she did not look up, did not hesitate. “You’re wasting your time. No blade can pierce me within the mythal while I control the Keystone. No weapon can harm me.” Catlindra gripped the blade tightly, and determined to sell her life as dearly as possible.

Catlindra stood silently, her own blade in her right hand and the sword she had just picked up in her left. She moved her new weapon slowly about, testing it for balance and solidity. It was a remarkably good blade, the balance perhaps just slightly off due to the absence of the decorative gem in the pommel.

She tried to calm her mind, to keep her eyes from straying to the dismembered Chaldara, and trying to ignore Jandeth’s distraught sobs. She could see Kaldura out of the corner of her eye, grimly hefting her mace. She knew that the dwarf was waiting for Marogance to let his guard down for just one moment, allowing her to get one good strike in before meeting a certain death.

The band of ghouls behind Marogance barked and yipped like a pack of hell-spawned dogs, and advanced menacingly forward.

“Back!” cried the lich-lord angrily, and raised his hand. The pack howled in terror and complied with his command. But the anger on Marogance’s face vanished as quickly as it had come, and was replaced by a grin of cruel humor.

“When I have done with the Lady Alustriel,” he said to them evenly, “you may rend her little playmates as much as you desire. They are all women, I see. How nice. Women scream better.”

The sound of Jandeth’s weeping cut off suddenly as the lich spoke those arrogant words. Catlindra watched with satisfaction as the young priestess slowly rose to her feet. She wiped the tears from her face with the sleeves of her tunic, and fixed Marogance with a gaze of such cold hatred that Catlindra almost gasped: she had never seen such a look in her companion's eyes before.

Kaldura did not instantly attack, to Catlindra's surprise and relief, but merely intensified her unreadable stare at the swaggering man.

Catlindra felt pride in her two remaining companions’ obvious courage and resolve, but Alustriel was a mystery: she was undoubtedly one of the most powerful mages in the Realms, a Chosen of Mystra, yet she stood helpless and inactive, as if she were in some sort of trance. Certainly, she could summon bolts of lightning from a clear night sky to slay this arrogant fool, and all his ghouls and demons as well! What sort of power did Marogance hold over her to keep her at bay in this manner?

The grinning wizard raised the Great Keystone before him. “When I crush this stone,” he said, “the great mythal of Myth Drannor shall come crashing down about our very ears. I will miss the power I command by controlling it, but that doesn’t matter. It will enable me to achieve my ultimate goal, which is your own death, Alustriel.”

The horrible sense of paralysis deepened within Alustriel's soul. “Why?” was all she could whisper. “Tell me why.”

Marogance swept his arms grandly open and gave a jolly laugh. “Shall I answer you?” he crowed. “Am I to obey your commands here? You don’t need to know why you are to die. You just need to die.”

Perhaps a tear escaped from Alustriel’s eye then, for the wizard gazed into her eyes with even greater relish. “You feel betrayed by an old friend?” he said softly. “Good.”

“Now, dear,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone, “when the mythal comes down, its tremendous magical energies are not going to simply go away. It will seek the most opportune route back to the source of magic, the mystical weave that pervades this world. Unfortunately for you, you hold a great portion of that magic within yourself. So, when the magic of the mythal seeks a place to go, it will be you that it chooses. You shall become a bonfire of magic, Lady.”

 


	9. Chapter 9

Catlindra knew the time had come to strike. If she could only distract the filthy creature for a moment, maybe Alustriel would come to herself and offer some sort of resistance. If not, at least one of these hulking demon-things would go down with them.

She gripped both blades tightly, carefully planning where to strike. She had no knowledge of the demons’ anatomy or where would be the best place to hit one. Maybe one blow high and one low would cover all the possibilities. She would have to be careful to compensate for the slight balance problem in her new blade...

And then it struck her. The sword was off-balance because it was missing the great gem that fit into its pommel. _What are the chances?_

She reached inside her cloak, and found the Gem of Truth nestled there where she had stowed it. “Seek the Blade of Truth in the abode of Lord Marogance, the lich,” was what Lady Nightbird’s note had said.

Catlindra bit her lip, desperate with hope. “Please, Lady Tymora,” she whispered. “Let it be.”

She pushed the gem into the empty socket on the sword’s pommel. It clicked into place as if it had never left.

Blue fire raced up the length of the blade. Catlindra felt an unbelievable exultation at the feeling of power. The tiny hairs on her arms all stood on end. It tickled her, and she giggled like a schoolgirl as she looked around her.

The demons were no longer there; they were illusions, nothing more. Catlindra couldn’t believe she had ever been taken in by such a shoddy pantomime. Where Chaldara’s gruesomely mangled corpse had been a moment before lay Chaldara herself, apparently in a dead faint, but whole and unbloodied.

The ghouls, unfortunately, were still there. They were all too real. When she looked at Marogance himself, however, she experienced only confusion. She could still see the lich-lord clearly enough, but her mind couldn’t recognize or interpret what it saw. It resembled the feeling one gets when one unaccountably can’t remember the name of a friend one meets on the street. In this case, however, it was Catlindra’s eyes that couldn’t seem to remember.

“What are you doing, fool?” snarled the thing that must be Marogance. "Do you think I wouldn’t have protected myself against all sorts of weapons, magical and mundane? I shall let the ghouls have you first. You will watch, still alive, while they devour first your arms, then your legs...”

“Alustriel,” called Catlindra, desperately. “Lady, you have to take the blade. You must see...”

Alustriel did not turn. Her head bowed a bit more, and two tears splashed upon the paving stones at her feet.

“Lady, please,” screamed the warrior woman. “Just catch the blade as I throw it to you! Alustriel, can’t you hear me?”

Suddenly, a word sprang into Catlindra's desperately whirling mind. She didn’t know what it meant, or why she had thought of it, but she screamed it out, in the throes of mortal desperation. “ _Dlaertha!_ ”

Catlindra gasped. She knew it had been she who had shouted the word, but the voice had not been her own. It had seemed to resound within her mind from all directions at once.

But Alustriel had heard! She stared wide-eyed at Catlindra, looking as if she had been slapped hard across the face. “You spoke my true name,” she said.

“Alustriel, _catch the sword_ ,” cried Catlindra, and threw it pommel-first toward the High Lady.

Alustriel caught it reflexively. As she did so, it was as if layers and layers of clouds fell away from her eyes and her mind. The demons vanished from her imagination. Although the illusion of Chaldara’s slaughter had never registered in her own mind, she realized why the others had reacted to her collapse the way they did.

She turned to face Marogance. As Catlindra had seen before her, the lich-lord seemed neither here nor there. She realized that he must be cloaked behind an astonishingly complex web of illusions to resist the power of this blade. Perhaps if it touched him physically...

Alustriel knew that she was no swordswoman. She also knew that even a seasoned warrior like Catlindra could never get close enough to the powerful lich to strike a blow. Alustriel was a mage, not a fighter. Her weapon training was woefully limited, except when it came to...hurling daggers.

She was an expert at the thrown dagger. It had started as a reluctant exercise in self-defense, in case her spells ever failed her, and had gradually become a hobby. Three hundred years and more of practice had made her deadly with the things, and she’d frequently beaten seasoned warriors, rogues and bards in knife-hurling contests. She knew that no single dagger thrust could harm this creature, and she also knew that he would most likely be warded against injury by any sort of physical weapon. Still, if her theory was correct, no actual blood would need to be drawn.

She pronounced the words of a simple spell – one she only bothered to memorize in the hopes of making some mundane daily task easier. The blade shrunk in her hand to a fraction of its normal size...to the size of a dagger.

With blinding speed, she hurled the enchanted blade at her former tutor. As she had guessed, he was warded against it; and fortunate for him that he was, for it struck him hard in the center of his chest – most likely a fatal strike for one without protection.

Alustriel sensed a terrible screaming noise within her consciousness as two mighty magics strove against each other. Marogance staggered back as if grappled by some unseen foe. His eyes squeezed shut, and when he regained his composure a few seconds later and opened them, Alustriel could see that they glowed with a golden light.

“You are not Marogance,” she hissed at the thing. “You are a Shadowmaster – a shapeshifting Malaugrym. What have you done with my teacher?”

“What do you think, idiot?” he hissed back. “I destroyed him, right after he so courteously sent you that message summoning you to help him. If he had truly cared for you, he would not have lured you into such danger, would he? And at any rate, destroying a lich is an act of good, by your own ethics. You should count me as a hero.”

“And so you thought that by killing me, you would bring about the downfall of Silverymoon and of civilization in the North.”

The Shadowmaster laughed. “Not at all! I desire nothing more than to murder you...and all your filthy bitch-sisters, and those fools Elminster and Khelben. When you meddled with us, you opened the doors to things that you must not be allowed to see. You are the only ones who can perceive the Great Secret without being destroyed by it. And so we must destroy you all... _now_!”

He raised the Great Keystone above his head and hurled it against the pavement at his feet. The gem shattered.

To Catlindra, the next few second seemed to pass in slow motion. Alustriel fell to her knees, screaming in agony as the entire power of the mythal tried to force its way into her. A sudden idea intruded into Catlindra’s mind: her catlash, she knew, reacted in an odd way with the magic inside the mythal. Lady Nightbird had mentioned something about the Mulhorandi magic that created the weapon being incompatible with the type of magic that formed the mythal. Since all magic cast within Myth Drannor was subsidized by the mythal, the catlash reacted in an unpredictable and disruptive manner within the ruined city. That was why Catlindra had had to warn Alustriel to stay away from her during the battle with the ghouls.

In one motion, Catlindra pulled her catlash from her belt and sent its tendrils streaking out toward the thing with the golden eyes.

When a large object passes through a whirlpool, the spiral of water is momentarily dispelled until the object passes through, and then resumes once more. So it was with the protective magics that surrounded the Malaugrym. The creature knew what was happening, knew himself to be suddenly vulnerable, and glanced fearfully over his shoulder as his protective magics faltered for just a moment.

That moment was one moment too long. His last sight in life was the rapid approach of Kaldura’s mace. Then the paving stones were painted red and pink with his brains and blood.

Everything after that was a blur to Catlindra. She sank dizzily to the floor just as a light burst into the room. She was vaguely aware of the ridiculous Morninglord Sephin rushing into the room, a small army of Lathanderite priests and warriors at his back...among whom were Shaliira and Taruele. Sephin’s face was twisted in rage. “Furnace fire and damnation,” he screamed. “There shall be no more ghouls _here!_ ” He thrust his hands out before him, and astonishing power blasted forth, vaporizing every one of the dozens of undead creatures in the Dome.

Then all was blackness. Catlindra saw nothing, but heard a gentle voice within her mind. She recognized it as the voice that had come from her own mouth when she had called out Alustriel's true name. Now that she had time to think, she realized it was also the voice of the vanished bard, Lady Nightbird.

Afterwards, Catlindra couldn’t remember any specific words that had been said to her. But there had been gratitude, and reassurance, and power.

“Lady Mystra,” was what she was murmuring to herself when she came back to her senses.

Catlindra looked over at Alustriel and saw that she was dishevelled and sweaty, but was smiling back at her. Mystra had been with her as well. The terrible burden of the mythal had been lifted from her, and all had been set right with it. No doubt she would mourn her old teacher, the dead but innocent Marogance. Catlindra imagined that mourning departed loved ones was nothing new to the High Lady of Silverymoon.

Various and sundry clergy of Lathander milled about the place. Morninglord Sephin blustered loudly around the Dome, searching for any wisp of vapor or fragment of bone that might indicate the presence of more undead.

“How can I begin to thank you all?” Alustriel asked her companions.

They looked at one another. Jandeth was the first to speak.

“Well, Lady, I don’t know how to put this, but...I stink. We all do. You wouldn’t happen to have a magical bathtub with you, would you?”

They all laughed. “In the basements of my palace in Silverymoon,” replied Alustriel, “there’s a large pool fed by a hot spring. In the palace above it are many warm rooms with soft feather beds.” Six pairs of eyes grew wider with her every word. She held out her unicorn-headed staff. “Anyone who wishes to go, simply place a hand upon my staff and I’ll open a gate home.”

There was no hesitation. “Catlindra,” said Kaldura gruffly, “I knew you’d lead us to glory sooner or later.” And then, in the wink of an eye, they were gone.


End file.
